


secrets I have held

by Anonymous



Series: Jimmy/Stan fics [4]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (both deaths are original non-canon characters and unnamed), Drug Use, Issues with Touch/Intimacy, M/M, Mentions of sex work, Minor Character Death, Murder, Prostitution, Tattoos, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He keeps his ink hidden. Some people keep their money in gold and jewels; Jimmy likes the idea that he wears his treasures on his skin.





	secrets I have held

**Author's Note:**

> There is no sexually graphic/explicit content in this. There is mild gore/semi-graphic violence. Please read content warnings before reading the fic.

Jimmy is 17 when he gets his first tattoo, in the back parlor of Stevie’s Sons & Co. off Highway 45. It’s a black ink sparrow, right underneath his left collar bone, low enough to be hidden by his t-shirt.

“For my mother,” is what he tells Stevie, who knows full well that Jimmy isn’t 18 yet, but he doesn’t ask for an ID, and when Jimmy tries to hand him $200 bucks Stevie takes it and tucks it right back into Jimmy’s worn leather jacket, hanging by the door.

Stevie’s old school–-he inks by hand, single needle. It takes five hours and by the end of it, Jimmy is sweating and shaking with pain-–the skin there is thin, and every push of ink feels like it’s sinking into his bones.

When Jimmy buries his mother the next day, his shoulder aches from the new tattoo, and the rest of him aches from grief.

–

It’s not until he’s 23 that he gets his second one. His favorite dagger, a vintage 1943 V-42 Devil’s Brigade, inked on his left forearm; the stiletto knife’s blade comes to a halt right above his left wrist.

He gets it after it saves his life one night, on a cocaine deal gone wrong.

It’s the first time he’s ever seen someone die in front of him. (It’s the first time someone’s ever died _because_ of him). His mother died in a bathroom, hours before Jimmy found her there with a needle sticking out of her arm. It was expected. A surprise, but not a shock.

But when he pushes the knife into the guy’s chest, he’s _shocked_ at how much resistance he meets-–how hard he has to press the blade for it to tear through layers of muscle, right into the man’s gut. Blood rushes out, hot over Jimmy’s knuckles. The guy couldn’t have been much older than Jimmy, all wiry limbs and bright green eyes. He chokes as he dies, terrible gurgling noises bubbling out of his throat as Jimmy twists the knife.

Jimmy calls an ambulance as he sprints down the alley, rounds the corner, sticking to the shadows until he can get into his car. He knows, logically, that the ambulance will be too late. But for some reason he calls one anyway, hands trembling, blood smeared across the glass screen of his phone as he dials. He doesn’t get further than two blocks away before he has to pull off to the side of the road and vomit.

_You did what you had to do. It was him or you._

He rinses the blood off his hands in the sink of a convenience store at 4am. There’s blood crusted underneath his fingernails, and splatters of it on his shirt. He buys a new shirt and tears the old one to shreds.

The next morning, he burns the shreds in a trash can behind his apartment.

No matter how hard he scrubs his hands, weeks later, they still feel dirty.

The inked knife is a reminder; that he’s strong enough to do what needs to be done, but that even if he wants to, he won’t be able to forget.

–

Jimmy doesn’t have many worldly possessions. He’s had to pack up all his belongings and hit the road one too many times to have more than two duffel bags worth of personal things at any given time.

So he spends his extra cash, whenever he’s got some, on cigarettes and ink.

He knows it’s bad for business–-clients don’t _like_ to see tattoos. For some, it breaks the illusion; they like to fantasize they’re fucking their ex-lovers, best friends, old boyfriends, but seeing his tattoos breaks that. For others, it breaks a different kind of illusion; in their minds, tattoos are too tough of a thing to belong on the body of someone willing to get on their knees or take it lying down, and the clients that hate his tattoos for that reason are always the roughest with him.

He limits himself to only getting ink on his left arm, and doesn’t get tattoos anywhere else on his body. For _those_ clients, he makes sure to turn the lights off, so that his tattoos are less noticeable. Sometimes, they’re gentler with him.

Most times, they’re not.

–

Over time, he adds pieces here and there to fill in the blanks on his skin. One drunk evening, he gets a snake tattooed above his left elbow, wrapping around his bicep.

He doesn’t regret it, though he wishes that he hadn’t spent the $450 that was supposed to go towards rent on it.

He packs up his stuff and skips out on rent, finds a motel to hole up in for a few weeks.

He names the snake Charlie.

–

When Jimmy starts applying for jobs–-real, honest, civilian jobs-–they don’t take kindly to the fact that he has tattoos. He wears long sleeves during the winter to cover them up, and short sleeves with thin jackets during the summers.

He keeps his ink hidden. Some people keep their money in gold and jewels; Jimmy likes the idea that he wears his treasures on his skin.

–

He’s in Stan’s van, and they’re driving around making water deliveries. Stan’s offered to split the cash they make selling water, but Jimmy shrugs him off. The money would be nice, but he can’t in good conscience take money from Stan, who severely undercharges for all the water he sells.

Frankly, Jimmy’s just grateful he’s got an excuse to take the day off. There’s still bruises on his knees from last night, and his jaw cracks and pops every time he yawns too widely.

It’s hot out, the sun baking the sky, heat waves shimmering in the air. The smell of burnt rubber and asphalt genuinely has Jimmy wondering if the tires are going to melt.

And, naturally, the air conditioning in Stan’s shitty van is broken. Even with the windows rolled down, Jimmy’s sweating through his shirt. Stan’s got his blue polo shirt on, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat coating his thick forearms, moisture gathering in his moustache.

“Boy, it’s days like these that I get real worried,” Stan says, apropos of nothing.

“Hm?” Jimmy says, wiping sweat off his forehead. His hair probably looks a mess, sweaty and damp. He runs a hand through it, trying to wick some of the moisture away.

He takes off his jacket, relishing in sudden rush of air against his damp skin.

“Well, I get worried about people getting dehydrat–whoaaaaaaaaaa!” Stan says, nearly swerving off the road.

“Stan!” Jimmy yells, reaching over and grabbing onto the wheel to right them back on the road as several cars honk at them. “Stan, what the hell!”

Jimmy looks around them, desperately, wondering if one of the drug dealers who’s out for them has caught sight of them, is pursuing them. But there’s nobody tailing them.

Stan pulls off to the side of the road and rolls the car to a stop, yanking the emergency handbrake, his eyes not even looking at the road.

He’s looking at Jimmy’s arm. His left arm, exposed in a short sleeve t-shirt, now that he’s taken off his jacket.

_Oh._

In the years since his first tattoo, Jimmy’s gotten several more. There’s still clean skin on his left arm, though he’s well on his way to having a full sleeve of tattoos. Most are black ink, though there are a few with muted, dark colors. For some reason, the idea of vibrant color tattoos hasn’t ever felt quite right. Doesn’t really fit in with Jimmy’s style, or personality, if he’s being honest with himself.

“Whoa…I didn’t know you had tattoos!” Stan exclaims, and the way his eyes flick up and down Jimmy’s arm, like he doesn’t know where to start looking, makes Jimmy blush. Not in an embarrassed way, because he’s proud of his ink, but because being under Stan’s scrutiny…it _does_ something to him.

“Yeah, I uh…well, I guess you could say I’ve got a few,” Jimmy huffs quietly, tentatively holding his arm up so Stan can get a better look.

“Can I?…” Stan says hesitantly, reaching out like he wants to touch.

And-–and usually, when people ( _clients_ ) ask, Jimmy says no. His tattoos…they’re _private_ , an intimate part of him, etched into his very skin. Showing people, explaining what each scrawl of ink means to him, makes him feel more vulnerable than he ever wants to feel.

But it’s _Stan_. It’s Stan, with wide, guileless eyes, curiosity sparking in his expression. His mouth is dropped open in a little ‘o’ of wonder, and Jimmy suddenly finds himself wanting to share. To let someone else appreciate the art he carries with him, the weight and history behind each one, the stories underneath his skin.

Jimmy cautiously sticks his arm out, and Stan reaches out and lightly traces a fingertip down Jimmy’s bicep, starting where his t-shirt ends. Jimmy shivers underneath his touch. Stan pauses at the snake.

“His name’s Charlie,” Jimmy says, and it prompts a curious look out of Stan.

“Charlie? You named him? But he’s a snake…on your arm,” Stan says, but he’s smiling, genuinely fascinated.

“Hey, don’t shade him like that,” Jimmy laughs, “you’ll hurt his feelings.”

“Oh…oh, sorry, little Charlie,” Stan says, and then before Jimmy can even _react_ , Stan’s leaning forward, arching his head down, planting a quick, gentle kiss against the skin of Jimmy’s bicep.

Jimmy feels heat rush to his face, and it’s got nothing to do with how hot and humid it is outside.

“Was…was that…are you okay?” Stan asks, when he catches Jimmy’s expression. Jimmy’s got no idea what he must look like right now–-face red with heat, sweat shining on his neck, breaths coming in a bit harsh–-but he nods.

“Yeah…I’m fine. I’m good,” Jimmy says, voice sounding a little choked.

“So…so why’d you get Charlie?” Stan asks, “and what about this?” His finger lingers at a black dahlia, the petals dark against the pale skin of Jimmy’s forearm, right above the dagger. Jimmy smiles, a little wry.

And he takes a breath, and begins to speak.

–

Jimmy likes tattoos for more reasons other than just the way they look.

The pain of getting inked reminds him that he’s strong, that he can overcome pain if he has to. That sometimes suffering is a means to an end, if there’s something beautiful to be had when it’s over.

Which is why, standing underneath the pool of a streetlight one night, watching Stan grin his way through a _cocaine deal_ , of all things, Jimmy realizes what his next tattoo is going to be.

–

He should have known, the first time they drove through the night til dawn, and the pale rays of the sun caught on Stan’s golden hair.

He should have known, the first time they ate hamburgers on a hill at the very top of Vinewood, and Stan looked like he belonged among the field of flowers.

He should have known, the first time Stan grinned at him and Jimmy felt a grin bloom on his own face.

He should have known.

–

Jimmy leans back to look at the artist’s handiwork. Her name is Katarina, and she’s good, _really_ good, at florals. She’s got an entire sleeve of flowers on her arm.

“A little different, huh?” She says, wiping away the bit of blood on Jimmy’s arm. She leans back to examine the way the tattoo looks on Jimmy’s arm and nods, satisfied.

Jimmy feels the corners of his mouth quirk up.

“Yeah, I like it. A lot,” he says.

The sunflower is small, nestled right above the dahlia. A bright pop of yellow, amongst the rest of the dark ink he’s got.

It looks beautiful.

“Thank you,” Jimmy says again, quietly. She nods, something unspoken in her eyes. He knows he doesn’t have to explain why he got it–-something about her smile tells him she already knows. 

–

Sometimes, after a long night of work, after Jimmy strips off his clothes, after he washes the grime of the night off his skin, he will take the time to linger.

To admire the small sunflower nestled on his forearm. How bright it looks, how untouched by all the darkness around it.

He’ll think of Stan. The way Stan has that same effect, like he can’t help the unbridled light flooding out of him, bringing those around him out of the darkness.

Jimmy keeps the tattoo hidden away, under his long sleeves and jackets.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever share the meaning of that tattoo with anyone.

But maybe someday, he’ll share it with Stan.

**Author's Note:**

> the lovely, talented @envarchy drew an absolutely gorgeous photo of tattooed!Jimmy as a gift to me on my birthday, which you can admire [here](https://envarchy.tumblr.com/post/184973452657/from-the-fic-secrets-i-have-held-happy-birthday). <33 go follow her, she's the bee's knees
> 
> fic originally posted on my tumblr, which you can find [here](https://haepherion.tumblr.com/post/184696147561/secrets-i-have-held)


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